Missing
by Riverflame
Summary: RemusSirius implied slash. Remus grieves for Sirius, and Wormtail remembers.


Title: Missing  
  
Rating: PG for suggested male/male love (Remus/Sirius) and minor instance of language.  
  
Disclaimer: None of the people, places, or events mentioned herein belong to me. All of them are JK Rowling's and/or Warner Brothers.  
  
A.N.: Written a while ago, this is my "getting over Sirius' death" fic. Angst warnings ahead.  
  
_____________  
  
The house creaked, empty.  
  
A voice suddenly echoed through it, and a sly-looking man appeared in a previously blank canvas in a dingy room, containing a couple of bunk beds.  
  
"Sirius Black! Where are you? Those people back at Hogwarts have some ridiculous notion that you've gone and gotten yourself killed! I tried to tell them that you couln't be dead; you are, after all, the last of the most noble and ancient house of Black. You can't die, you have the entire family history on your shoulders. Sirius! Where are you, boy?"  
  
As he said this, the man's image drifted through all the other pictures in the house, shouting for his great-great-great-grandson. After a bit another portrait started shrieking downstairs, but the man did not stop searching and calling out for his descendant.  
  
His voice echoed emptily and mingled with the screams in the vacant silence.  
  
_____________________  
  
Miles and miles away, in an unknown location, a pale, balding man was told that a man called Sirius Black had been killed in the fight, a gain to their side even among the horrendous losses.  
  
Wormtail was shocked by this, and at first didn't understand why the others counted it as a gain. After a second or two though, he remembered that he was on the other side. Sirius was the enemy, now - or rather, he thought and his stomach lurched, was the enemy until he was killed.  
  
Memories of the old times, so long ago he almost thought he had forgotten them, rushed through his head in a torrent. The Three Broomsticks, and Sirius and James pulling yet another prank. Those wild nights when the moon turned full and Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs went out for their monthly adventure together. Studying, classes, Hogsmeade, the Shrieking Shack - and there Wormtail stopped, because that led to a much different memory, one that wasn't so happy, because his friends didn't take him back after he asked them to, no, then Sirius had wanted to kill him and James was already dead. And Sirius was the enemy. But now he's dead, and that's a good thing, Wormtail reminded himself so he never thought otherwise again.  
  
He made himself forget anything happened and left to go to his Master, his Dark Lord.  
  
_______________________  
  
Days later and the same miles away from the skinny man called Wormtail, another man paced those same ways in that same house with the same pictures and same stuffy air and ruin.  
  
He too remembered old times, and he too tried to stop those memories, but instead he loved, he didn't hate. He loved too much, he told himself; it is perilous to love anybody so much, especially when either of them might be killed at any moment from this war that they both were in. It kills him to be in this house, where Sirius was, where memories of him and even of his killer are everywhere, but it would kill him to be away. There is no other place that reminds him so of Sirius, because there is no other place that he lived in the last fourteen years or so, except for Azkaban, and that doesn't count at all. Hogwarts would remind him of his best friend, of course, but he had no place there. Besides, he had become oddly attatched to this terrible place, if only because he had lived here for a few months... and because of Sirius.  
  
God, even thinking about him hurt. It shouldn't this badly, he should be able to look back on the good times and laugh, but he couldn't, and so there must be something wrong with him. Besides, there were those details that just made it that much harder to bear.  
  
Like the fact that he had lost the best friend of a lifetime.  
  
Like the fact that he had gone so quickly, and there wasn't even a body.  
  
Like the fact that he himself was the only one left, except for Peter, but Peter didn't count. At all. He was negative numbers. Stop thinking about the bastard.  
  
Like the fact that Sirius had died after twelve years in Azkaban, then two years of being on the run from nearly everybody, then one year of being practically imprisoned in his own home.  
  
Like the fact that he, himself, Remus Lupin, Moony, had lost a lover too.  
  
And he thought of these all together at once, how Sirius would never be back, how he could never even touch him or see him or hear him again, how he was so alone.  
  
And he finally knelt on the rotting carpet by himself and cried, and cried, and cried. 


End file.
